


face the music

by Yuki1014o



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Gen, Lots of terrible puns!, Misunderstandings, blanket warning for Alastor, but he still has a heart!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: “You,” Husk says, because apparently he can’t mind his own business, “need to get your shittogether.”“I am always together,” Alastor says, and takes another sip of coffee.“You summoned me into your home at eleven at night,” Husk says, gesturing vaguely to a clock. “And you’ve been staring at the wall for the lastsix hours.”(Wherein Alastor isnotavoiding anyone, Husk is very tired, and everyone else is mostly just confused.)
Relationships: Alastor & Alastor's Mother (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 90





	face the music

**Author's Note:**

> I have not edited or proofread for typos I'm sorry. I'll uh. do it eventually?

It starts during breakfast, when Alastor’s emergency frequency (given to only _some_ of his contractees, and used by even less of them) gets sounded.

“Ah,” Alastor says, head still kind of ringing. He’s pretty sure that one bled into the air around him. “It seems I have an urgent matter to attend! I’ll be just a moment!”

“An emergency?” Charlie asks, sounding genuinely concerned, which is really quite pathetic, but almost endearing if Alastor looks at it wrong. “Will it be alright?”

“Well that’s what I’m about to find out!” He dips his head a bit, grins wider, and blinks away without waiting to observe reactions.

It’s much more unpleasant atop the hotel, out in Hell’s too-humid air that sticks to his skin yet _still_ feel dry when he breathes it in. It’s also louder. But oh well! More important things to worry about than that!

Cause despite how he acted, is is _actually_ a bit concerned. Usually when he gets an emergency frequency he already knows why, or at least has an idea. But Lucifer has no reason to be starting anything, and the overlords are mostly sedate now (or, as sedate as they can be!) And yes, Vox has been antsy, but he’s _always_ antsy (that impatient, obnoxious, waste of space—!) So really, that doesn’t say much.

Which only leaves a couple of options, none of which are all that likely, except—

except the one he’d really prefer it not be.

Ah well. Enough stalling! He follows the waves, the magical residue, lets himself fall right into the haphazard maze signals. It pulls him out to—hmm, well. There goes the hope that it wouldn’t be _this_. Alastor easily recognizes his surroundings as his own territory, near the heart of the Gluttony Circle, and more specifically, the exterior of his favorite restaurant in all of Hell. (Even though he’s never dined there!)

There’s a note on the door, it reads: _Sorry, be back soon! Off to find my son._

“What,” he asks, voice all dripping with static, “is _this?_ ”

The poor little demon that called him here _squeaks_. Her ear press right down against her head and she doesn't meet his eyes. “Sir I—she didn’t tell me! It was just closed this morning! I called you soon as I saw, I swear! You—that _is_ what you told me to do, isn’t it? Oh dear, oh Jesus fuck, fucking shit, is that not what you wanted? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you. Please—”

“Quite down,” Alastor says, although what he really means is _shut up or I’ll rip your tongue right out of your face and make you eat it_. She shuts up. He could do it anyway. It might be fun. He makes a habit of treating his workers by at least a passable standard, though, and she hasn’t done anything wrong _yet_. “You did just right, actually! Now, describe to me what happened last?”

“I don’t know,” whimpers the rabbit demon, and Alastor _glares_. “I mean—nothing out of usual! She closed shop, told us all goodnight! She didn't say anything about leaving!”

“I see!” Alastor says, and that makes sense, really.

His mother got suspicious—which, was always bound to happen eventually—she _does_ live in the heart of his territory, after all. And _yes_ that gives him better control on what information reaches her, but it also makes the sheer _lack_ of things she hears about him suspicious. And that’s on top of the _other_ suspicious things. (No one bothers her, she got practically a free plot in the middle Hell’s most prime real estate, so, well.)

The rabbit demon still hasn’t left. It’s irritating him. He grins sharply. “Go on! Continue on your way!”

She nods, glances at him for a moment, and scurries off. Alastor waits just a moment before pivoting on his heels and turning his grin to the small crowd that’s accumulated. Should he kill them? They’ve seen a potential weakness of his. Once they reform their memory will be foggy up to death. Well. Massacre it is!

It’s less fun than usual. Probably because he’s preoccupied with worrying about his mother.

See, it’s like this: when Alastor came to power he took over the Gluttony Circle first. He found his mother there. And he doesn't know _why_ she’s in Hell, but she _is_. Which is a problem because his mother is a good person, and the only person he’s ever really cared for, and with everything she’s given him—Alastor wants her to have a model son.

(It’s not that Alastor considers himself _shameful_ , no, most certainly not. But he knows logically that he is not a good person, and he never tried to be, and he is happy with that but _she_ might not be.)

Alastor flicks the blood from his claws. Vanishes the blood from his sleeves. Grins at the new arrivals. Holds himself back from killing them. If he’s going to keep on massacring he should at _least_ do it outside his own territory.

Or maybe he should stop wasting time on murder. There are better things to be doing, after all—like finding just _where_ his mother is going. To find information, probably, but concerning what? Himself? She’s probably already figured out he’s the Radio Demon. He never took another name, after all, and he hasn’t changed _that_ much from life.

He flickers away from the scene, back to his own tower. His _empty_ tower, where no one can see him, and promptly bites down on the side of his cheek. It helps him focus. And his own blood has always tasted the best.

He should have been more subtle. Not gotten so _involved_ in protecting her. But what was he supposed to do? Let her settle in some other overlord’s territory? Let her go to the _pleasure_ district?

No, he couldn’t do that.

So now he...should restrict information on himself even more, so that she doesn't find out just _what_ he’s done. And if she does…

Well. If she does, then neither of them will ever have to talk to each other, anyway!

(He is _not_ afraid of her judgment.)

-

Angel Dust thinks he must be going insane. It would make sense. He’s been in Hell for a good what, seventy years now? He’s lost track. Because either he’s less sober than he thinks he is, or _Alastor’s ears are pressed down_. Which obviously doesn't make sense, because he’s an Overlord, the _Radio Demon_ , and Angel’s been taking that seriously ever since he saw Alastor obliterate Snake-Face in five seconds flat.

If _his_ ears are flat cause of something around here then what does that mean for _Angel?_

If he knew something would happen on this shopping trip he wouldn’t have agreed to go. He should’ve just worked overtime. Or taken more drugs. Or done nothing all day. But _nooo_ , instead he decided to flirt, decided to say _Hey? How do you like my outfit?_ And Alastor said _To be frank? I hate it! The sheer lack of class! The inelegance! The amount of skin! If you insist on wearing dresses then at least wear something proper!_

And yeah, maybe that wasn’t the most open-minded thing to say. But Alastor is from, what, the 1930s? It could have gone worse. So of course Angel had to say _proper? Why don’t you show me?_

Which lead to this shopping trip at _another_ Overlord’s shop. Which. Fuck was Angel not prepared for that. He doesn't want to get tangled with _more_ Overlords. That never means anything good.

Alastor’s static spikes, and suddenly his hand is on Angel’s wrist, and he’s being pulled into the other Overlord’s shop.

“ _Rosie_ ,” Alastor says, and his voice is edged with a dangerous kind of static. Fuck. Angel does _not want to be here_. He’s such an idiot. Why did he think voluntarily going anywhere with an Overlord was a good idea?

A demon with a big flowery hat an a crimson pencil dress comes out. She practically beams. “Alastor! Good to see you around! Ah, what’s that little thing? You brought someone?”

“ _Rosie_ ,” Alastor says, again, “I have. But that’s entirely off topic! I noticed someone on the street outside. Is there a _reason_ you didn’t tell me _she_ was here?”

And with that, Angel is lost. This is about some _girl?_ Fuck, is Alastor straight? Is that why he’s never reciprocated _anything?_ If he’s straight Angel will want to to hole himself up in a corner and never come out. Probably get high. More than usual.

“Well you didn’t tell me you were coming!” Rosie says, splitting her face into a pink-toothed grin. “If you had, I _might_ have told you!”

“Very funny!” Alastor says, although doesn’t look like he means it. “If you know where she is I must strongly request you inform me, no matter the time or what I might be doing!”

“Strongly request?” Rosie asks, eyes narrowing, and Angel thinks he might actually die if this escalates. He does not want to die. Reforming sucks and he would miss so much work and Valentino would be _angry_ at him. Which is somehow worse than painfully regrowing from pieces.

“Indeed,” Alastor confirms.

Rosie grins like a sickle. “Well why didn’t you just say so? Of course, anything for a _friend_ , right? She came here asking after you, if you must know. And before you start, I didn’t answer.”

Alastor hums.

“I _have_ been telling you to deal better with this for the last two decades,” Rosie says.

“And I’ve been telling you to mind your own business,” Alastor replies.

“Business, hmm,” Rosie says, eyes glinting. “Very well! What’d you come here to buy?”

And just like that, the heavy air is gone. Alastor pushes Angel forward, gestures at him. “This! The clothes are a travesty. Surely you have an _appropriate_ dress for the spider?”

“Of course I do,” Rosie says, “What do you take me for?”

They talk about dresses. And proper fashion. Angel is hardly listening. he’s mostly just trying to clam down his heart and regain his breath. Because _honestly_.

(Whatever girl this is about better be worth it.)

-

“You,” Husk says, because apparently he can’t mind his own business, “need to get your shit _together_.”

“I am always together,” Alastor says, and takes another sip of coffee.

“You summoned me into your home at eleven at night,” Husk says, gesturing vaguely to a clock. “And you’ve been staring at the wall for the last _six hours_.”

“No,” Alastor says, “I am looking at you right now. Not the wall. Is your head screwed on right? Or are you just zozzled? Head spinning a bit? Eyes going bad?”

“I’m too sober to deal with this,” Husk says. Alastor snaps a bottle of cheap booze onto the his table. Husk narrows his eyes. “Is this a bribe?”

“That’s _absolutely_ a bribe,” Alastor confirms, and smiles charmingly. “No run along! Go get bent!”

“Ugh,” Husk says, but starts downing the bottle anyway. Alastor summons a few more, just for safe measure.

Good. Now Alastor can keep staring at the wall in peace. Mama’s looking for him. He would really prefer to avoid her inevitable disapproval. He wishes he could ask her what to do.

“So what’s this alabout?” Husk asks, some ten minutes later, words significantly more slurred. And more loose. And less cautious. Oh. Hmm. Giving him alcohol might not have actually been a good idea. “C’mon? Vox messing with you? Boredom? A lady?” Husk laughs, collapses onto the table. “A girl. Fuck’in imagine. Heartless radio demon bothered by a girl. I—I fuck’in, I can’t take that. W-who’s the l-l-lucky lady, I—”

“Quiet down,” Alastor says. How did he manage to forget how irritating drunk people are? The only reason Husk isn’t dead is because Alastor passingly likes him.

Husk pauses, looks at him wide eyed. “It’s not _actually_ a lady right?”

“It’s my _mother_ ,” Alastor snaps, and Husk visibly startles.

“Oh,” says Husk. “’Shoulda figured. Somethin’ happen? You stopped being stupid yet?”

“I’m afraid that I couldn’t be as stupid as you’re being right now, even if I tried,” Alastor says, and pointedly runs his tongue over his teeth. “Why, we’re in my kitchen right now! And I _am_ feeling peckish!”

“Oh fuck,” Husk says, and makes a valiant effort to bury his face into the hard wood of Alastor’s table. “I blame this on you. Drunk. Fuck me.” Alastor plays a laugh track. Then another one.

“Haha,” he laughs, “Never!”

Another thing about Mama: she never expected him to get a lover. Alastor dated a few girls in his teenage years, but it never quite clicked, and he found himself wanting to open up their ribs more than kiss them. He wondered, then, if perhaps he wanted a boy instead—but no, that wasn’t it.

To put it simply, he’s just got something wrong with him. In his head, or maybe his heart. It doesn't bother him, not really, romance and sex are pointless wastes of time, and there are a million more productive things to do, but that’s always been one of his unpopular opinions.

While the other boys would talk about girls and the girls would talk about how _pretty_ his eyes are and hey, _tomorrow? I know this place…_ All his Mama would say is to be happy.

( _Hey, hey hey hey cher, don’t be like that. You don’t wanna go? Then don’t. Petting pantries are just fine even without a girl with you! They can call you upstage however much they want! Don’t give handcuffs to some poor girl if you don’t really mean it!_

Alastor had nodded, kind of shakily, a bit hesitant, because he was sixteen and hadn’t quite learned how to maintain his image completely. Nor how to throw away to paltry opinions of idiots.)

Thinking about Mama is really not helping. Alastor takes another sip of coffee. Husk looks soft and pattible.

“...Don’t suppose you’d agree for me to edit the contract to take your fur?” Alastor asks, for probably the hundredth time.

Husk’s contract has always been one of his slight regrets. He isn’t allowed to hurt Husk in humanly lethal ways. And sure, that gives him a lot of room (psychological torture! Not as physically taxing torture! He could take an arm, if he wanted) but it doesn't give him the ability to take Husk’s skin. Nowadays he’s sure to be more careful with his contracts. It’s all the softness with none of the _touching!_

Husk groans, wings sluggishly moving into something...vaguely protective. “No! No skinning alive. Sound painful. I like not dying.”

“Oh my _fine furry friend_ ,” Alastor coos, waving his hand to summon both more alcohol and more coffee. “What do you take me for? I wouldn’t be so harsh with you! I almost like you! I’d put you to sleep first!”

Husk peeks up from the table, squints at him. “Fuck Hell. I sober too quick. Is that you being honest or your attempt at scaring me off?”

Alastor plays a laugh track and doesn't answer. Husk scowls at him. Alastor flippantly waves a hand. “Why not both?”

“I’m too used to your bullshit,” Husk says, looking tired, “that ain’t gonna work.”

It’s true. Husk is _much_ too used to Alastor. It’s a terrible weakness, really, for Alastor to have someone he _likes_ down here—and for them to be as relatively weak as Husk. Alastor can’t say he _loves_ Husk, because Mama is the only person he’s ever loved, the only person he’s ever cared about as more than a passing like.

(He decided this when he was fourteen, when he sat down and wondered if he would trade his life for hers. The answer was _no_ , of course, because Alastor will never care for anyone more than himself—but it was the first and last time he’s ever even contemplated such a thing.)

Alastor hums. He tunes in some quiet jazz.

“Ugh,” Husk says, flattening his ears a bit. Alastor lowers the volume. “You’re giving me a headache. And not just the noise. I can’t believe I’m _worrying_ over your stupid shit. Get _together_.”

Alastor raises the volume.

He raises a brow. “Telling _me_ to get things together, Husk? It’s like you’ve forgotten what a sorry fellow you make of yourself! It’s rather pathetic!”

“Fuck you,” Husk groans, ruffling his wings. “But point. Booze?” Husk pushes him a bottle.

“Haha!” Alastor conjures himself a proper glass and a bottle of actually decent alcohol. “Have I ruffled your feathers?”

“ _No_ ,” Husk says immediately, suddenly looking a bit more alert. “Don’t you fucking start.”

“Or what,” Alastor shows his teeth, “you’ll put me in _Hell?_ I’d rather you grow a sense of humor—we could make one _Hell_ of a punny team!”

Husk looks actually pained. Alastor feels better already.

-

Betty’s had her suspicions for a couple decades now.

Her first decade in Hell...it was normal. As normal as it could get in Hell, anyway. She went around, tried to find a good place to settle, never quite found one right for her. She pitied herself, loathed Hell with all her being, but—but never, _never_ regretted doing what she did.

(If she were a good person she would have reported to the police the instant she figured out Al was killing and eating people. But she’s not a good person, not exactly, no matter how much she tries to be, and her son will _always_ take priority over anything else.)

Anyhow. She found the Gluttony Circle, eventually. And it took her heart, Gluttony has _trees_ , it has flowers and animals! It has bogs and parks and an endless amount of restaurants, so really, what else could she have done but settle there?

It was hard, at first. It was hard getting a place and it was hard defending it, and—

And then the Radio Demon came, and it all went uphill from there. Suspiciously uphill, actually. She got the land free. She _kept_ it easily. There always seemed to be food to keep her stocks fresh. That just doesn't happen in Hell.

It took Betty a bit to figure out. The Radio Demon is notorious for avoiding social media and _hating_ having his picture taken, and his voice never quite seemed to show up over her radios. But some things don’t change.

The Radio Demon is also an infamous cannibal (Just like Al!) Loves killing (just like Al!) Is a smart and dapper man (just like Al!) And before she died Alastor was setting himself up as a radio man.

It’s only when she finally, _finally_ heard the Radio Demon’s real name that she made up her mind, though. _Alastor_.

That’s her boy. Her _son_.

God, she wants to see him. She wants to run her fingers through his hair and kiss his cheeks and make him dinner and say what she never said in life: _I don’t mind your murdering._

But she can’t.

Because Alastor is avoiding her. She’s sure he is. Surely it can’t be this hard to find a demon as prolific as him? Are all Overlords this hard to find?

Betty really hopes he doesn’t think she hates him. They’re both in Hell together! Alastor’s always been a confident boy. _Surely_ he doesn't think she’d dislike how he turned out. Sure, he isn’t exactly the son she was trying to raise, but he’s _himself!_ That’s what matters.

Betty grits her teeth, blinks some useless tears from her eyes. This location is also empty of him. She’s frequenting all the locations he’s known to visit—Cannibal Colony, various parks, various cafes—and _nothing!_ Not even a glimpse of him anywhere. She bares her teeth into a smile.

She’s gonna stay strong. She ain’t a weak person. Betty endured her husband, she can endure her son avoiding her.

(The possibility the scares her the most is that he doesn’t like her anymore. That he _dislikes_ her. That he wishes she had raised him different.

Surely it can’t be that, can it?)

-

Husk is tired. He is usually tired, but right now he is more tired than normal.

There’s the Alastor stuff, and now Charlie’s dragged them all out to a park to have a picnic. A fucking picnic. A _picnic_. In hell. With the Princess of Hell and Porn Star Angel Dust and the fucking _Radio Demon_. That sounds like a riot.

Husk does not like riots. He likes everything to be quiet, and gloomy, and unchanging. The world is so _exhausting_ to deal with. He prefers not to deal with it at all. Why he agreed to a contract with the _Radio Demon_ of all deal makers is beyond him. Although it made perfect sense to him at the time—Alastor’s got a silver tongue and sweet words, after all.

Alastor is _exhausting_ to work for. He volunteered Husk to go on the picnic before Husk could even properly decline.

So really, fuck all this.

“Husk..?” Charlie asks, sounding a bit concerned. _Genuinely_ concerned. God, she makes him kind of sick.

Husk gives her the middle finger. Alastor grins at him. Husk kind of wants to topple the whole picnic blanket. But Alastor would probably just laugh, and Charlie would probably get sad, and _fuck_ , Husk isn’t ready to deal with that kind of drama.

He closes his eyes, and tries to pretend he isn’t on a picnic right now. Tries to appreciate the simple things. There’s warmth on his skin, his fur is well-groomed, the food is actually decent.

“Hah!” Angel Dust snickers, “something wrong, kitty?”

Husk’s ear twitches. He does not respond.

Then Alastor starts petting his ears and he snaps up to bite the fucker’s hand. Because really. Fuck him. Alastor catches his jaw easily, claws drawing blood on Husk’s skin. He wants to sigh. Or maybe just cuss. Or not be here at all.

Charlie is looking at them worriedly. She probably thinks Husk is _actually_ in danger, the earnest idiot.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor grins at him, all sharp-toothed and threatening. “Deer got your tongue?”

That’s—seriously? Why did Husk expect anything else. Of _course_ Alastor would. He scowls harder.

Alastor lets go of him and plays a laugh track.

Husk opens his mouth to say something—he isn’t quite sure what, probably _fuck you_ or _you think you can just drag me all over the place and—_ but something catches in the corner of his eyes. Something red and feminine, something that smells like dried spices and swampy waters. Something like Alastor but very much _not_.

_Oh_ , Husk thinks, and he can feel his pupils dilate as they lock onto the doe, _oh shit_.

Alastor follows his gaze, freezes in a way Husk has never seen on him, and promptly disappears. Just. Poofs.

Husk’s eyes twitches, his ear twitches, he wants to rip Alastor apart limb by limb and tell him to stop being such a troublesome _idiot_. He wants to hiss at Alastor not to poke at Husk’s less than stellar coping mannerisms when he teleports away at the sight of his mother. He wants to _sleep_.

And look, Husk’s never been a people person. He isn’t like Alastor, with his honey-sweet lies and silver tongue, with his words that sound so pretty that their meaning becomes fog and sand. He isn’t like Charlie, who genuinelycares about being sensitive and careful of people’s _feelings_.

Husk is just tired of this bullshit. It was _him_ that had to sit and watch Alastor stare at the wall until five in the morning.

Alastor can tear up Husk’s contract, for all he cares. He’s going to do this.

“Ugh,” Husk says, and pulls himself into standing. “Hey! Doe!”

-

_Really_ , Alastor thinks, looking at the woman in the door _, I should’ve expected this._

No matter how much he’s tried to keep his whereabouts away from her ears it isn’t exactly a _secret_ that he’s sponsoring this hotel. He should have thought this through better, really.

Husk twitches. Charlie looks uncertain. Vaggie looks between him and the doorway. Even Angel Dust has apparently read the room and stopped eating mid bite. How peculiar.

He can slip away from here, if he wants. And oh does he _want_ to. But Mama is right in the doorway and it would be _quite_ useless to leave now, wouldn’t it?

Mama pauses just another moment before her grin stretches right up to her eyes and she claps her hands and rushes right over. Alastor presses himself against the cold hotel wall. She’s right in front of him, now.

“Oh cher,” Mama says, “turn dat frown upside down! Smile!”

His smile dropped? _Oh_. It did. How pathetic. He grins, then plays a laugh track. It feels misplaced. He isn’t entirely sure what else to play.

“Haha! You’re right as always!” Alastor says, tone perfectly chipper. Mama raises a brow at him. Alastor slips off the wall, into a more free position. “Oh don’t look at me like that! You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I’d imagine so,” she says, sounding vaguely amused. “’specially cause you’ve been avoiding me for the last nine nine decades!”

Alastor thinks about playing a laugh track. Doesn’t. “Well I hardly thought you’d want to see me, Mama!”

Someone chokes off to the side. He thinks it’s Vaggie, but he isn’t really paying attention. He’s hyper focused on the way Mama’s smile wavers, just a bit.

“Silly boy,” she says, softer, quieter. “Whatever possibly made ya think that?”

He actually does play a laugh track, this time. “I’m quite sure you weren’t planning on raising a demon like myself! Honestly Mama, is it not obvious?”

Mama starts to lift her hand. Probably to pet his hair. He’s taller than her. It’s never been like that before. Her claws are soft, fuzzy, warm. Alastor very carefully does not flinch. Any other demon would have their whole arm off by now.

She laughs a little. “ _Al_ ,” she says, “who do you think covered that kill by the edge of town? The one near that clover patch? You were antsy all month—you must’ve known that someone saw.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

That makes much more sense. He ended up thinking that whoever saw either thought they were seeing things or got too scared to report. It also means that Alastor probably got Mama in Hell. Ah. Well.

“Hm,” he says.

Mama grins, waves her hand a bit. “Enough about the living realm! Tell me what you’ve been up to! I heard you’ve been _raising Hell_ down here!”

Alastor actually laughs, deep cackling sounds that rattle his very lungs. “That’s one way to put it! Good one!”

“Well ya know I just can’t resist, _deerling_ ,” Mama says, and Alastor laughs even harder.

“Haha!” Alastor says. “One of the first things I noticed in Hell was just how crowded it is. Figures, really, since people are _dying_ to get in!”

“You’re hellishly good at this!” Mama says, then peeks over to the side. Laughs. Alastor follows her gaze. Husk looks like he wants to die. Again. Vaggie is quite literally tearing her hair out. How fun! “Been practicing, hmm?”

Alastor nods. “Death gives a lot of free time to perfect skills! I’ve almost got your recipes down!”

Mama’s whole face softens. “Now that, _that_ sounds like you want some of my cooking.”

Alastor feels his tail wag beneath his coat. He swallow back some saliva. “Don’t suppose you’d make something with venison?”

“Silly little glutton,” Mama says, voice all soft and warm and disgustingly loving. “Anything for you.”

Alastor’s really missed this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ah hell I haven’t disliked something I’ve written this much in a while haha. There were a few bits that a liked but. Eh. God. I’ve been loosely in the Hazbin fandom since October 2019 but damn, a few days ago I read the Alastor comic and just CRASHED into this fandom like I never have before. 
> 
> Anyhow! I’ve always loved the detail that Alastor is a mama’s boy so. Here this is. Brian vomit. Hope you enjoyed. If you did, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment, and, as always, constructive criticism is open and welcome. <3


End file.
